honesty*rain

I made the mistake yesterday of thinking I could write the update when I got home after picking up the kids. (hitting self in head) When will I learn? When I got home I had to let the kids ride their bikes. Well, I didn’t have to but at the same time, I had to. You know how it is. They might be smaller than me but they could totally take me in a fight. They often do.

Monday was good. Went to the book store to sit in Starbucks. This is by far my favorite place to write. Something about being out in the public. I think I like being seen. Especially if I like my shoes that day.

Tuesday was also good and also at the book store. I do not remember what shoes I had on. I think I may have been wearing new jeans.

Wednesday: book store but less good. Struggled to eke out the full thousand. Kept looking at the word count and thinking oh gawd.

Thursday, library. Also struggled with getting the thou out but did it. Why? Am a fucking superrockstar, is why. Not unlike these crazy mutherfuckers:

Friday, different library. By now I’ve figured out that I’ve been getting sick and that’s why it’s been a bit of a struggle. Knowing this makes Friday easier. I planned to do two thousand words on Friday but had to run errands so didn’t have time.

weekly word count summarization
Monday 1157
Tuesday 1076
Wednesday 1319
Thursday 1111
Friday 1255

I originally said I was going to write monday to saturday, a thousand words a day but saturdays have not been possible. We have too much else going on. Like, for one, feeding Madison. I can’t write because she needs to eat every ten seconds. It’s time consuming.

I feel like I’m really getting into a rhythm now. I like what I’m putting out and where the story is going. I hit the 18 000 word mark yesterday. Thrilling like you would not believe. It feels like I’m getting into the real gooey toffee center of the thing.

Next week I’m going to start doing 1500 a day. The intention is to work my way up to two thousand a day. I think it’s very doable.

So the plan is this: write the book and when it’s done take 6 weeks off to let it rest. During that time I will work on smaller projects (as in I will not start a new novel during that time) and compile a list of literary agents. When the six weeks are up I will have a sit down with the novel and make editorial notes for the rewrite. Next, obviously, the rewrite. I think three months for that, but not sure. Somewhere in the rewrite process I will begin contacting prospective literary agents. Post rewrite I will take two weeks off and then start anew with a second novel.

So that’s where we’re at. 18 000 words of probably, what, 100 000? Don’t know really. The book will end where it ends. 80 000? 130 000? Can’t say just yet. Either way, am well down the path at this point. Feeling good.

completely justifiable grounds for divorce: wife tapes over season premiere of Heroes and also new show Journeyman with that guy from Rome.

i spent ten minutes saying oh my god oh my gow when i realized what i’d done. he did not throw me out into the street and frankly i question his judgement. i have done him wrong.

if anyone wants to email me the season premiere of Heroes i’d be damned grateful. also, could you email me cash? i suspect he may come to his senses and send me packing.

I forgot to do the friday writing wind up. There’s a really simple reason excuse for it: I didn’t write a whole helluva lot this week.

oh damn.

I’m going to start right off saying that I totally fucked the dog on at least one day. I mean, I won’t try to say that I was innocent of all blame. At the same time, I totally was innocent of all blame.

Monday was good. I wrote at home and did the thousand words. Tuesday was also good(ish) and I wrote about 600 words, also at home.

Wednesday I went shopping for fabric to make curtains in my family room (with the express intention of writing at home after the kids got home from school). Zero words. That was totally a fucking the dog day. I didn’t even find fabric and the window remains entirely and utterly curtainless.

Thursday there was a crisis. Dan and I were talking about how we would go buy Jake’s hockey equipment after school and he goes: Ugh. Shopping with the kids. And I went: I can come get you RIGHT NOW and we can go RIGHT NOW and I will write when they get home from school. Hockey equipment: one, writing: zero. But shopping with tired children crisis? Averted!

Friday was the honest to god busy day. Other than the usual ferrying about of children I also had a zillion errands. We were having Dan’s dad’s 80th birthday party that night and I had a ton of stuff to get and then another ton of stuff to clean. I was home ten minutes before our guests. I wore a black dress and after everyone left Dan said that if I was going to wear a sexy black dress all night I better be ready to bend over.

Writing? Whassat?

Needless to say I honestly thought I would make it all up on the weekend. Because weekends are well known to be the time when parents get stuff done without interruption from offspring. You didn’t know that? Oh totally. I wrote three thousand words and build a little ship inside a bottle. While knitting a sweater and reading Shakespeare allowed. Because I don’t want to have stupid children. Obviously.

Summary: 1600 words this week.

Lesson: doing other crap when i should be writing PLUS i will write when they get home from school EQUALS zero

We begin again tomorrow and after I drop Madison and her cousin Sam (am driving cousin Sam) at school I will go directly to place of writing and write AND THEN when I am done ONE THOUSAND WORDS I will do other stuff like go shopping. I want a new bracelet. Silver, I think. And boots. Also, those curtains….

The last while it seems like my period is coming sooner than it ought. Last month I was sure it had only been three weeks between attacks and decided to keep track. I haven’t taken much notice of my cycle’s comings and goings since I was trying to conceive. Thankfully this time there is no peeing on sticks (and, accidentally, finger tips no matter how hard you try) and for that I am glad.

And sure enough, it’s looking like a disgustingly short cycle. Which is revolting but moreso when you consider that before kids I had a 55 plus day cycle. Spectacular unless you are trying to have a baby.

I did just read online that a ‘regular’ cycle can be as little as twenty one days. Hazzah, that sucks. Because the people I live with are going to kill me if I keep getting this bitchy this often. Cuz you know a short cycle ain’t no easy cycle. And they are going to kill me. Not that I argue their justification in doing so.

As soon as I get this sucker over and done with I’ll go have m’self checked out. Just to make sure my this and that are working properly. I’m probably low on some nutrient or other. Might have to give up muh all chips diet. Damn.

Now stand back lest ye get some pms on you. I’ve been known to throw small cars and eat the heads of eensy weensy yappy dogs. Grr.

I’ve never been a fan of The View. I don’t like Barbara Walters and always found Meredith Viera a little too white bread for my taste. Don’t even get me started on Star Jones. I like her better post gastric by-pass but let’s be honest, that’s like saying I prefer non-poisonous spiders to the killer kind.

When the fantastic Rosie O’Donnell joined the cast I decided to give the show another chance. I loved what she did to the program. It was refreshing to have someone speak so plainly on television. And I love a good fight so she was right up my alley.

Problem was either she or Elisabeth had to go because there was going to be bloodshed and it would not have been pretty to watch Rosie squash her like a grape.

I thought my renewed interest in The View would follow Rosie out the door but today I tuned it in and am pleasantly surprised. Whoopi is as opinionated as Rosie but far less volcanic in expressing those opnions. She’s refreshing but less dangerous. My favorite change to the line-up though has to be Sherri Shepherd. She’s spectacular. There’s nothing I don’t like about her. I can even say that both she and Whoopi make Joy and Elisabeth more interesting. Or rather, they probably distract from them well enough to render them less tedious.

I still don’t care for Barbara Walters but I can say I like The new View anyway. Especially the first fifteen minutes when they chat at the desk. Once the guests come on I could care less but I enjoy me some hot topics as I fold the laundry.

What do you guys think? Loving The View, or not so much?

Remember the other day when I was going for a drink at a friend’s house after our nightly walk? Did I also say that I was not planning to eat dinner before I went? Because I’m nineteen and I don’t know any better. I also intend to get a job at the mall and spend all of my money on shoes at le chateau.

The night began innocently enough. I had a glass of water first because I was so thirsty from our walk and to be honest, I should have stopped there. I didn’t feel like drinking but being that I am a total putz I agreed to a glass of wine. Then another. And another. Until eventually I was weaving my sad way down the street at 1am.

The good news is that my friend Debbie is just as pathetic as I. We each drank an entire bottle of wine. I mean each. Not that I had any idea what was happening. I was not the one pouring the wine and didn’t even notice a second bottle had been opened. That is my defence: ignorance. Someone else must have put the gun in my hand, officer, I had no idea.

I drank the wine becuase the wine was given to me. And even though I knew by the very last SUPERFULL glass that I was so done I managed to choke down every last drop. I can only speculate as to how funny it was to watch me try to get my runners back on. They have laces. I bet I asked someone else to do them up. I don’t even know.

Debbie and I had no idea it was so late nor that we were so drunk. Sitting the entire time we drank gave ocassion for our bodies to think we were perfectly fine. Silly bodies, no. Debbie didn’t even realize we were unstable on our walk home whereas I was quite aware and certain that I managed to steady my gate. Turns out I was hysterically wrong. Dan had a friend leaving just as we hobbled up the road and lo if they did not find us amusing. I apparently asked his friend to take off my shoes when I got home.

Proudest moment in life: that one.

And the fact that I was drinking in my yoga pants.

I was pretty sure we’d embarrassed ourselves beyond repair with our new friend and was superglad that I had company in my jackassedness. You know you’ve got yourself a right good friend when they commit the same acts of silliness to share the humiliation. Thankfully we have not been shunned but I suspect we’ll never hear the end of it either and that’s okay. If you’re going to be a jackass you have to live with the consequences. Sometimes for more years than you could possibly imagine. I wouldn’t be surprised if they are still talking about it in 2025.

me (2025): No thanks, no more wine for me.
debbie (2025): Me either.
everyone else (2025): Hahaha as if. (pours wine)

Could’ve been worse. I could have ended up puking all night. Oh wait….

It’s been an excellent week. I am now at 10368 words. I have broken the ten thousand mark. It’s a day for celebration. I think I’ll have a glass of wine.

I’ve been writing a long time. My whole life. Never to any real purpose but I wrote. About 12 years ago I decided to get serious about it. Worst mistake ever, writing wise. I rushed out and bought all manner of book on the subject. Nonsense about sides of the brain and exercises designed to inspire. I kept a notebook on my person at all times.

And I stopped writing. In fact, I hated writing. I tried not to but I did. I’d gone from loving a thing to feeling like it strangled me every time we met. I forgot my stupid notebooks, lost my pens and I hated writing. I tried to watch people on buses. I took notes about the silly things they would say. I did character studies, I begged my right brain to work well with my left brain but the two rarely spoke never mind played well together. One made lists and the ran around dancing on speakers at bars. It was ridiculous.

I didn’t realize that the damned books were the problem. Every natural instinct I had as a writer went out with the bath water after I read those books and while I needed something they were not it. I spent years feeling like a jackass because here I was well read on the business of writing and I could not write more than ten words without wanting to poke my eyes out with my the corner of my laptop.

Throw in there the growing and birthing and raising of two babies and what you’ve got is a formula for giving up writing altogether.

Only, I couldn’t. I don’t write because I want to make money writing (but it would be nice! I would not say no!) I write because even if I were a doctor (the other thing I want to be when I grow up) I would write. I put words together in my head even when I do not have paper. It is an obsession for me. And those books made me feel stupid.

This summer I decided that this fall would be my time to get back to it and even though I was excited I was also sick to my stomach. Nothing good had ever come from getting back to it. I once quit my job to write full time and while I did grow and learn I also hated it. Nearly every second.

A few weeks ago Dan and I were talking and he said something about a book Stephen King wrote about writing. He said he’d heard good things.

I haven’t read much King. Once at the cottage I got into Bag of Bones and really liked it but I think that may be the only thing of his I’ve read. I’m not a fan of the genre.

But I got the book. Much as I knew it would be a waste of money. All books on writing are.

Except for one small itty bitty thing. This book is awesome. In fact, this book makes awesome look lame. This book has restored my love of writing. Because Stephen King doesn’t carry around a notebook everywhere he goes and stare at people in line at the bank. I mean of course he stares at people in line at the bank. But because it’s fun and not because that’s what writers have to do.

Stephen King writes the way I am naturally inclined to do. His office is not littered with Post It Notes detailing the plot and subplot and character studies of his entire novel BEFORE the novel is written. Stephen King writes the way a person should write, the way that I am in fact writing now. Only twelves years of wasting my time. No big deal. Carry on.

I’ve never written ten thousand words of one project. Until now. That five digit mark is thrilling. I don’t know how my book is going to turn out. I have no idea if it will be any good. I don’t know how much if of what I am writing will actually stay in the book. And that’s all okay. How can I know when it’s not finished yet. How can I say it’s good when it does not yet exist. The point is, I’m writing it. I am getting story down on paper (computer hard drive) and for the first time ever I am really enjoying writing fiction. Be damned the other books I read. They were all written by people who were not successful novelists. Funny, that.

For anyone thinking about writing I seriously recommend you get this book. It’s not only helpful but also a good read.

In additional writing news, I’ve started a rewrite of a piece of short fiction I wrote years ago. It was the story I submitted for the Mentor Program I was a part of in 2000. I’ve since lost the original copy but remember it well enough for a rewrite. Dan thought of it the other day and suggested I do so. I too had been thinking of it and started work on it Wednesday. I can tell you this: it is called run. I’ll finish it next week, take a week to let it settle and then do a rewrite and start submitting.

Ten thousand words, guys. Pretty big deal for me. What’s funny is a year from now when I am working on my next novel ten thousand words will seem like nothing. Ten years from now it will be a real hoot.

Oh and I was totally kidding about the glass of wine but turns out one of the girls I go walking with has invited us in for drinks after our exercise this evening. A glass of wine shall indeed be enjoyed. And I will silently toast to my success. It’s been a good week.

I was just at Imperfect Symmetry and had to steal this. This video is sweet, funny, true and lovely. I am not ashamed to admit I got a bit misty eyed. Enjoy and feel free to go visit the young lady from whom I stole the idea.

Tomorrow is writing update day. Come back if you can.

Only ha, not us. Me. And not drunk. Because I am not an alcoholic or something. I am not. I AM NOT. What is your problem when I said I am not? I AM NOT.

I had a great day today.

It’s not that I am drunk so much as I had a cooler when I got home from work (WORK!) which is innocent enough unless! Aha! Unless! Unless you have not had so much to eat and you are not necessarily wee but also NOT OBESE. Which is to say basically average. If you are average and ill fed one cooler will render you tipsy on a Wednesday.

One half glass of wine with dinner will add fifty percent tipsy to existing tipsy.

math test:
some plus fifty percent (actual fact of the matter) = X
solve for X

Plus, when i say I had a cooler after work I do IN FACT mean after I got back from writing. Today I was at the library by my old house but shhhhh! Am not supposed to update until Friday. Pretend I didn’t say anything.

Wait, I didn’t say anything.

It’s killing me. i want to tell you. I won’t. Shhhh.

Anyhooooooooo. I need to get out and take some photos soon. Which has NOTHING to do with ANYTHING but this is my website and I can wander if I want to. I need to find me a decent fence to photograph. I would love to spend an hour with a decent fence. God sakes I would love it. A decent fence, my camera and a bottle of wine.

Not the wine. I am only thinking of wine because I just had some. I would not need the wine. But if you bring it I won’t complain. Also, I like chips.

By decent I actually mean falling apart and being held together with history alone. That’s the kind of fence I mean. The kind that screams PEOPLE HAVE BEEN HERE. I love a fence that has seen life. That has been present to keep this person out, let that person in, save a dog from running into the road, establish the boundary of this is ours. Fences are amazing to me.

I totally thought it was Tuesday until my friend AnnMarie said otherwise. Isn’t it funny when a whole day can go by like that and you don’t even know what you are dealing with.

HILARIOUS.

Anyhooooooo. I have to go. I totally don’t have time to sit here. I am going walking with the girls soon. There is a new addition to our group. Soon we will be an army marching down the lane. I should bring a flask of wine, maybe. To welcome her to the group.

SOME PEOPLE WOULD DO THAT! SHUT UP!

ps, I don’t even like wine. I was only kidding with the constant references to wine. Gawd. Wine is gross*.

*It so isn’t.

Jake started grade one last week and he’s a little overwhelmed. This is out of the ordinary for him. He’s the kid who can’t wait to get out into the world. Never looks back when I drop him off. This is the first time he’s away so much of the day and it’s been harder. He’s wanting to do so well at this big boy business of grade one and the new routine is a lot to process. For the first time ever there is a bit of a fuss when I drop him off. He clings to me and begs me to stay.

It doesn’t help then that this morning I forgot today was his All About Me day. Which, come on. Third day of school and you want a kid to not only DO a presentation but expect his mother to remember to get it ready and send the damned thing to school? On the third day? Seriously?

What am I? Keener Mom? No. And my kids will one day be thankful for it. Keener mom is such a geek.

I nearly puked when I realized I’d forgotten. I had visions of her asking him first thing if he had his All About Me bag with him. I had further visions of him bawling. Because his mother is evil. The poor child. Really, someone should help the kid out. It’s unfair, what he has to put up with.

The lucky thing is that he comes home for lunch. I figured okay, tears were probably shed but I can fix it all up in the second act. Right? If I go on a mad dash and come up with FOUR THINGS to represent WHO HE IS everything will be all better. Mommy is not so bad, is she?

Only, who is he and what four things best express that? And would it be wrong to send a six year old boy to school with his bedtime stuffies and a box of spaghetti? Because he likes spaghetti. Sort of. And mommy is panicking. Mommy is almost in tears. Mommy just threw the box of spaghetti at the wall. Mommy is sorry.

Mommy needs to lighten up, I grant you.

So I get out the sheet. The one they gave me the first day and it says All About Me: bring stuff like a family picture and three other brilliant things that you make up all by yourself asshole and do it on time. Or thereabouts. And can you BELIEVE this? We do not have a family photo. Of any description. Anywhere. On any level. And I wonder if there is time to photoshop us all in to one perfect picture and print it and not have a nervous breakdown because did you know I do not really look like that? In real life? I do not look the same in pictures as I do in real life. I am not so ugly.

To do list:

1. be prettier
2. make appointment for family photograph after completing #1

I come up with some other collection of images and affix them to a BLUE sheet of cardstock. Blue, right? Good call. It’s his favorite color. Not that he’d notice but you can damned well bet he’d have noticed if I used some offensive non boy color like oh, say, pink. I didn’t do that. Points for me.

I then decide he will take his favorite superhero toy and his favorite comic book because although those things do not reflect well on me (violent toys! hazzah!) they do actually represent the actual child. I could send a book of Shakespearean sonnets and a puzzle but that would be representative of some other kid. Some other kid my kid would call boring and weird. Which he gets from all the awful TV shows we let him watch.

So now I’ve got three things: collage on blue paper (pictures affixed in non fancy completely non girly way), superhero, comic book. Excellent. Now what? Ah! AHA! Rock collection!

Since the beginning of time Jake has been collecting rocks. They’re really nice too. My dad’s driveway is surprisingly rich with a lot of, well, basically broken cement. Plus he picks up a lot of pebbles on the road. For his rock collection. You don;t know the rocks I find in my dryer. You do not know.

He did have a cool one his cousin brought him from Vimy Ridge in France. Which is so significant WWII/Canadian Armed Forces wise. We lost it almost immediately. Chucked it on the floor of the truck. I think it ran away back to France after suffering the neglect of us. Bought a plane ticket with my credit card. Can’t say I blame it.

So add rock collection to this All About Me bag and if my math skills are correct we’ve got four and we’re happy(ish). All’s that’s left to do is pick him up for lunch and beg teacher for forgiveness. I am worst mother ever.

I accept this award and would like to thank the little people.

I go in early to speak with the teacher because I am of course humiliated. So early on and doing nothing to represent. As in REPRESENT. Like the rappers. You know. And she sees me but does not rush over even though I am standing most earnestly at the door as though I am desperate for her to love me. Please love me, Teacher, and tell me I am a good parent.

When we finally speak it goes thus:

Me: I forgot to bring his thingy.
(brillaince!)

Her: His thingy?

Me: For the All About Me?

Her: Oh I didn’t even ask him about that yet. We usually do it in the afternoon.

Me: (redeemed!)

Her: I don’t think the clock in this room is right. It always seems like we’re running late.

Me: Oh that’s good because so am I.
(wanting to further behave as though lacking any degree of grown upedness)

Her: Oh, haha. I was so worried…we’re late, I felt so bad.

I end up happy. It turns out the teacher is pretty concerned with impressing me. With impressing ME, I said. Which is a first. Damned teachers have always been so damned sure of themselves. And busy with making me look stupid with their correct clocks and remembering their own planned activities. I think I like this girl. She’s - well - just like me. She’s a flake. On parent teacher day we’ll both forget what time I was supposed to be there. It will be so refreshing.

Equal footing. It’s quite something.

But I still win for crappiest mother. Because I am the one who is giving out this award. And if I do not give it to myself I will never win anything.